So the catsuit is payne’s gray,not black, and it comes withlace cuffs to distract from the claws,and a shimmery flowing skirtthat pools around me when I sit,softens the danger of these high boots.

The mask is pretty, handpainted,a compromise of dark and light,disguising hungry stares and dagger looks.Nine lives beat in my heart, one is mine.Eight are hers, multiplied to infinity.(She holds most of the cards, really.)

And now she holds them out to me,without conditions, without reservations,only relieved that I let her out, finally.What deep dark eyes she has,what sharp tongue she has,what quick strong hands she has...

the better to watch and see with,the better to speak the truth,the better to claim what is mine.We filled in each other’s blanks,and she said, let us retell the Stories,once again upon a time.